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SUN-WAYS OF 
SONG 



BY 

ALONZO L. RICE 

WITH AX INTRODUCTION BY 

CHARLES MAJOR 



AN EPILOGUE BY 

FRANK L. STANTON 




BOSTON 
SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1910 



Copyright, 1910 
Sherman, French & Company 






(gCU3688-35 



Xntroduction 

Does Nature, manifest in forests and mead- 
ows, in squirrels and sunshine, in clouds and 
rain, throw off a poetic effluvium infectious to 
those who keep her company? Is she the cause 
of the poet's love for her, or is the poetic tem- 
perament the source of that affection? 

I cannot answer these questions, but this I 
know : that the sweetest singers of our language, 
who tenderly touch our hearts and send our 
blood dancing through our veins in floods of de- 
Light, are those whose souls are in touch with 
Nature's silent melodies — silent to most of us. 

Nature's symphonies may be lost to a tone- 
deaf ear, but to her ardent lover she gently 
breathes her melodious strains and teaches him 
to sing them to the world. 

Alonzo L. Rice has spent his life listening to 
the chorus of the birds ; and few poets have 
caught more accurately the harmony and mel- 
ody of that simple yet marvelous song. Not 
only has he caught Nature's rarest tones, but 
she has told him the secret of her voice, and has 
taught him to sing her highest praise in imita- 
tion. 

The fortunate reader of this volume will need 
no word from me to make clear his rendering. 
The exquisite beauty in "The Dead Bee," "The 



Introduction 

other Life," "When Baby Died," and "Come, 
Go a Piece," needs no analysis to make it per- 
ceptible. Like all great beauty, it is so simple 
that a child can understand. 

He who interprets Nature's song to those of 
us who cannot hear her low sweet voice takes us 
closer to the glories of the infinite and fits us 
better for the worries of the finite. 

"Sun-ways of Song" brings love and light 
and simple faith. It soothes us like a mild nar- 
cotic ; and Hstening to its gentle strains we, too, 
catch whispers of the mother-voice, and the 
clouds of our work-a-day life are swept away, 
while we dream that we also can sing. 

CHARLES MAJOR. 



Contente 





Page 


THE MULBERRY TREE . 


1 


THE MAGNET .... 


4 


THE FOUR GRACES 


4 


THE STORM .... 


5 


WHEN BABY DIED 


6 


GRIEF ..... 


7 


THE OPTIMIST .... 


8 


ON SUCH A NIGHT, AT SUCH AN HOUR" 


8 


AT EVENTIDE .... 


9 


SUMMER ..... 


11 


WHO BIDES HIS TIME 


11 


A DREAM OF LONG AGO . 


12 


FAIR MEADOWS .... 


13 


LOVE'S HOUSE .... 


13 


A LOVE SONG .... 


14 


JUSTICE ..... 


14 


FOR LOVE OF YOU 


15 


MILKWEEDS .... 


15 


THE OTHER LIFE . ' . 


16 


IN A ROSE'S LIFE 


18 


COME, GO A PIECE "... 


20 


THE SEEKER .... 


22 


A WOODLAND TRAGEDY . 


22 


THE MIGHTY GODS 


23 


THE KING'S SWORD . . . . 


23 


THOSE WHO GO DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS" 


24 


OUR DAILY WORK . . . . 


25 


WANDERLUST . . . . . 


26 


SUCCESS . . . . . 


28 


A HOUSE UPON THE HILLSIDE " 


28 


NIGHT ...... 


29 









Page 


CONTENTMENT ..... 29 


WELCOME OF THE WOODS 




30 


THE OVERCOMERS JOY 




31 


DROUGHT 




31 


SONG OF CHILDHOOD DAYS 




33 


A DEW-DROP'S MONOLOGUE 




34 


BALLADE OF MILKING TIME 




34 


LOVE CAN NEVER PROVE UNKIND 




36 


THE HIGHER FAITH 




3T 


WHEN LILACS BLOOM 






38 


FROM GRAY TO GOLD 






38 


INDIAN SUMMER 






39 


AT DAWN 






39 


ASLEEP AT POST 






40 


THE ROSE'S RIVAL 






40 


THE OLD WATERMILL 






41 


THE GIFT 






43 


THE STARS 






44 


GYPSIES 






45 


IN THE AUTUMN 






46 


NOW THAT WE PART 






47 


WHEN MOTHER DIED 






48 


THE ROSE AND THE BIRD 






49 


THE TRULY BRAVE 






49 


THE PATHWAY 






50 


GREENWOOD CHAPELRY 






50 


APPLE BLOSSOMS 






51 


BROKEN SHRINES 






52 


SERENADE 






52 


A WISH 






53 


TWO MOODS 






53 


ENDEAVOR 






54 


AN AUTUMN SCENE 






65 


IN THE GARDEN 






56 


SONG'S MISSION 






57 


A DEAD BEE 






58 





Page 


THE MEETING .... 


58 


THE SEARCHER 


59 


THE SIBYLLINE BOOKS 


59 


THE ICONOCLAST 


60 


A DREAM MOOD 


60 


THE INDOMITABLE WILL " 


61 


THE STATUE .... 


61 


THE PLAIN BOW 


62 


MIRACLE OF THE CORN 


62 


THE MOTH AND THE SONG 


63 


THE OWL .... 


64 


THAT LOVE IS DEAD 


65 


LOVE'S BIRTH .... 


66 


BALLADE OF BLUE EYES AND CHERRY LIPS 


66 


THE FLIGHT .... 


68 


ACCEPTABILITY 


68 


BECALMED .... 


69 


FRIENDSHIP .... 


69 


AN EXILE'S DREAM 


70 


ONE YEAR AGO .... 


73 


LETTERS OF GOLD 


73 


WHIPS OF SCORN "... 


73 


DOWN COUNTRY WAYS . 


74 


A WINTER TWILIGHT 


75 


LETTING DOWN THE BARS 


76 


AZALEAS .... 


76 


BEFORE THE FIGHT 


77 


CREATION .... 


77 


THE OLD COUNTRY ROAD 


78 


THE POET .... 


79 


THE SURRENDER 


79 


HARBOR OF DREAMS 


80 


A SONG ..... 


81 


THE ROSE OF DAWN 


82 


CURFEW ..... 


82 


QUANDARY OF THE GODS 


83 





Page 


MOONLIGHT .... 


83 


OLD HAMPSHIRE 


84 


AN AUTUMN DAY 


86 


A HEART AND A SOUL 


86 


MEN SAID MY DAYS WERE WASTED " . 


87 


A PRAYER .... 


88 


AT EVENTIDE .... 


89 


A GRAY DAY .... 


89 


DIEU VOUS GARDE 


90 


ENGLAND .... 


90 


STORM AT SEA .... 


91 


RETROSPECTION .... 


92 


LOVE THE CONQUEROR 


92 


LOVE'S LOYALTY 


93 


DEAD ! MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN " 


94 


GLEANERS OF THE PONTINE MARSHES 


94 


DOUBT ..... 


95 


IF I SHOULD FAINT" 


96 


PASTORAL DAYS 


96 


LOVE'S ROSE . . . . . 


97 


INFATUATION . . . . . 


98 


AN EVENING PRAYER . . . . 


98 



]^ote 

To the proprietors and editors of Lippin- 
cott's. Life, The Reader, Leslie's Weekly, Bo- 
hemian, Boston Transcript, Judge, Youth's 
Companion, Success, Cosmopolitan, Munsey's, 
Brooklyn Life, Sunday School Times, Christian 
Endeavor World, Smart Set, and The Indian- 
apolis News, the author desires to express his 
thanks for the courtesy extended in granting 
him permission to reprint his verses previously 
appearing in their pubHcations. 

The author's thanks are also due Messrs. 
Silver and Burdett for permission to use "Come, 
Go a Piece," from "Poets and Poetry of Indi- 
ana;" also to the Harmsworth Publishing Co., 
of London, England, publishers of The Red 
Magazine, for similar favors. 

A. L. R. 



THE MULBERRY TREE 

The mulberry stands on the side of the hill 
With the fleecy clouds over it, lazy and still ; 
A silkworm of fancy now spins from its leaves 
A thread of gold tinsel while memory weaves 
A fabric as fine as those looms of the East, 
In hues like the ones of the gay Flower Feast. 

Near by it, the river with azure-veined arm 
Enfolds the fair landscape with many a charm ; 
The low-bending willows that trail in the tide, 
And the smooth silvery sycamores rising in 

pride : 
The meadow, the comland, cloud-shadows at 

play. 
In pursuit — up the hill, down the vale — and 

away! 



In the leaf-dotted shadow the honey bees sing, 
While a sweet invitation the lily bells ring 
To remain for a moment and rest, but for me 
The charm that abides is — the mulberry tree! 

For years, all the wonders its covert possessed, 
From the velvety leaves to the well-rounded nest 
Of the robin, that poised on a sentinel limb. 
Would sing at the nightfall a wonderful hymn ; 
Far excelling the songs of the siren of yore. 



8un-^ay9 of Song 



That caused brave Ulysses to pause by the 
shore. 

(This Homer relates in his "mighty-mouthed" 
verse ; 

But the themes of the countryside let me re- 
hearse : 

With baby's pleased face pressing close to the 
pane, 

And the worn reapers thanking the robin for 
rain!) 

The woodpeckers throng where the ripe berries 

drip 
With a liquid far sweeter than moistened the lip 
Of the fond devotee where the tall lilies grow 
And the drops of rich Burgundy sparkle and 

flow; 
But no revels of midnight have dazzled the head 
That peeps from the green leaves in turban of 

red! 

(What a feast to the gods, do the berries 

bestow : 
To the bird on the bough; to the poet below!) 

There, the little sapsucker, with many a dot. 
Has circled the trunk, and in each hidden spot, 
A berry has dropped by the same mystic speU, 
As the manna that once in the wilderness fell ! 



Sun-CClays of Song 



Tiptoeing, a limb we could reach with one hand, 
With a boost from a friend we could easily land 
Where we shinned up the mossy old trunk at our 

ease 
By clasping it close with our hands and our 

knees! 
Then, thick fell the shower of fruit, pit-a-pat, 
Into Chloe's spread apron or Strephon's straw 

hat! 
(Had Py ramus elsewhere sought Thisbe that 

night, 
The fruit of the mulberry would have been 

white. ) 

Like a palm in the desert, its green branches rise 
In the noon of the day when the sun blinds my 

eyes; 
Then, so gladly I turn as the sand bums my 

feet, — 
Like a pilgrim his Mecca, its wide boughs I 

greet ! 

Gracious refuge of shadow! There often I seem 
To behold that fair city John saw in his dream ! 
I recline by the fountain that flows by its root, 
And drink the clear water and eat the ripe fruit ; 
While the deep-shadowed silence that falls over 

me, 
Recalls the sweet peace that crowned glad Gali- 
lee! 



Sun-CClays of Song 



THE MAGNET 

From Eastern lands where dark-eyed Houris 
dwell, 
From where the Southern sweet magnolias 
blow, 
And Western climes where strains of Zephyrus 
swell, 
The needle turns to Norland's ice and snow ! 



THE FOUR GRACES 

A BLUE sky, a red rose, a tress of gold, a song, 

These make beautiful the earth and banish 
thoughts of wrong 

Until the hill, the vale and rill, to my glad vis- 
ion, seem 

Arrayed in all the beauty of a peri's fairest 
dream. 

When fervid shines the heat of day amid the 

crowded throng, 
A blue sky, a red rose, a tress of gold, a song. 
Dispel the thousand little doubts, each shadow 

of a care. 
And gazing on the heavens I can see that hope 

is there ! 



8un-CClay8 of Song 



When longing for a something that is better 

than I've known, 
A knowledge that my weary feet are coming to 

my own, 
A blue sky, a red rose, a tress of gold, a song, 
Are staffs for my infirmity and make me brave 

and strong! 

A health to you, good friend of mine! A 

plenty to you all! 
May each one be at his home when Fortune 

makes her call! 
With sweetest wine to lips of mine I pledge both 

deep and long, 
A blue sky, a red rose, a tress of gold, a song. 



THE STORM 

A FEARFUL storm made havoc through the 
night : 

The giant oaks lie overturned; the bay 
Strown with dismantled vessels shows the might 

From which the sailors strove to get away! 

A world at peace with songsters in the trees. 
The golden beams of morning now disclose; 

How gently rocked by this caressing breeze, 
The hammocked infant of yon crimson rose! 



6 Sun-days of Song 

WHEN BABY DIED 

How brief the stay, as beautiful as fleeting, 

The time that baby came with us to dwell ; 
Just long enough to give a happy greeting. 

Just long enough to bid us all farewell. 
Death travels down the thickly-settled highway, 

At shining marks they say he loves to aim; 
How did he find far down our lonely by-way. 

Our little girl who died without a name? 

She seemed so like a tender bird whose winglets 

Are broken by the stress of rain and storm, 
With loving care we pressed the golden ringlets. 

And wondered could there be so fair a form; 
For death had chiseled without pause or falter 

Each feature that the sunny tresses frame ; 
No change of scene nor length of time can alter 

Our httle girl who died without a name. 

We do not know the fond endearment spoKen 

To which she listened when she fell asleep. 
And so, beside a column that was broken, 

We laid her to her slumber calm and deep; 
We traced upon the stone with loving fingers 

These simple words, affection's tear to claim: 
"In dreams, beyond all earthly sorrow, lingers 

Our little girl who died without a name." 



Sun-CCJays of Song 



Close folded there within the Bible hidden, 

A flower fades that withered on her breast; 
Upon the page where such as she are bidden 

To seek the circle of His arms for rest. 
"Of such the kingdom," comes to us so sweetly, 

Those little ones without a touch of blame; 
We know He shelters in His love completely, 

Our little girl who died without a name. 

She sleeps serene where fragrant mossy willows 

In sweet and wordless tunes forever wave. 
And summer seas in long and grassy billows 

Break into bloom around her lonely grave. 
In memory's hall how many heroes slumber, 

We gild their deeds upon the scroll of fame ; 
We treasure far above this mighty number. 

Our little girl who died without a name. 



GRIEF 

His love, to-night, the Wind has lost. 

And over barren pasture-lands. 
How wildly are the dead leaves tossed 

By his grief -stricken hands! 
I know, for 'tis the selfsame sound 

That swept across my soul the eve 
I scattered rose-buds, dewy-crowned. 

Above lost Genevieve. 



Sun-Cdays of Song 



THE OPTIMIST 

Dear gazer on the brighter half 
Of this prosaic world of ours, 

Who always thinks it best to laugh 
And pluck sweet flowers ; 

The kind influence of your hand 
And voice will ever lead us on 

And upward till at last we stand 
On heights of dawn! 



"ON SUCH A NIGHT, AT SUCH AN 
HOUR" 

I LOOK abroad, and cannot help but think 
On such a night, at such an hour as this. 
Love was awakened by Hope's gentle kiss ; 

For just above dim cloudland's purple brink 

The moon rides high, and kisses rose and pink 
On this broad terrace; from yon dark abyss 
Fire beetles seem like drowsy eyes, I wis, 

That close to sleep's dominion idly wink. 

I hear, somewhere behind a leafy screen, 
A cricket sing his song of vain regrets, 

And with deft touches strike his tambourine; 
Across the lawn there come the mignonette's 

Sweet odors, while from balconies of green. 
White lilies bend like stately JuHets. 



Sun-Cdays of Song 



AT EVENTIDE 

How fair at eventide 
Shine out the early stars ; within their beams, 
Peace and contentment reign, and there abide, 

Ref resiling, soothing dreams. 

And as they softly shine. 
What fond emotions fill the throbbing breast ; 
While countless tender fancies lightly twine 

A crown of peace and rest. 

Appearing when the blaze 
Of sunset gilds the clouds with hectic flush. 
Amid the sounds of night their kindling rays 

Invite a solemn hush. 

From unseen rippling rills, 
A chorus swells unheard through busy day; 
From reedy vales and forest-mantled hills. 

There comes a plaintive lay. 

Their gentle glances bring 
To mortal kind the blissful hour of rest ; 
The weary bird, on wide-exploring wing. 

Now seeks its woodland nest. 



10 8uti-^ays of 8ong 

Foldward, by dewy lea, 
The shepherd slowly tends his straying flocks; 
The fishing skiffs that fleck the sunset sea, 

Turn to the vine-clad rocks. 

Now fade the twilight hues 
That made fair oriflammes of dusky trees. 
While like a benediction fall the dews 

As ebbs the dying breeze. 

So comes the hour of prayer. 
When mortals at the altar lowly bend; 
And like an incense through the quiet air. 

The wants of earth ascend. 

And now amid the gray 
Uncertain shades and the fast-fleeting light, 
I ask that truth and honor lead my way 

That I may walk aright. 

Thus when the last low sand 
Is faintly twinkling in life's faithful glass. 
May I like this fair day, from this fair land. 

As sweetly, gently pass. 

And through the gates ajar, 
May love's bright beacon lead me to His side 
Where skies are ever bright as they now are 

When falls the eventide. 



Sun-Cdays of Song 11 

SUMMER 

The sun throned far in brightly gleaming skies, 
Sends down his splendor where fair Summer 

lies; 
Broad breadths of blue, now softly bend to kiss 
The green-clad Earth, in sweet, enchanted bliss. 



WHO BIDES HIS TIME 

It looked like beauty wasted; through the 
night. 
The spotless snow its ermine robes unfurled 
On bare, brown hills ; it seemed as sad a sight 
As goodness scattered through a heedless 
world. 

Day dawned at last. Beneath a cloudless sun, 
Hill, valley lay in robes of hght serene; 

Our hearts by that mute eloquence were won. 
And dwelt enraptured on the fairy scene! 

And, thus we came to know that each good deed 
Will shine like snow on midnight hills for- 
lorn ; 
The shadows past, our patient eyes may read 
Love's deathless message on some smiling 
morn! 



12 Sun-^ays of Song 

A DREAM OF LONG AGO 

Full many happy days have dawned along the 
path of Hfe, 
When the heavens bright and cloudless bent 
to kiss 
The crimson blooming meadows where the 
honey-bees were rife, 
And the butterflies were floating in their 
bliss ! 
In fancy I can see again the roses as they cling 
Round the window rosy red with dying day ; 
The robin's repertoire I hear — what worlds of 
rapture ring — 
And I kneel again by mother's knee to pray ! 

I wander now as Jacob did, my pillow is a stone, 
I miss my mother's voice at evening's close; 
The bees that wooed the flowers, and the butter- 
flies have flown 
To the vale where blooms the summer's fade- 
less rose ! 
And in the night, like Jacob, I can hear the 
mystic lore 
That tells of rest beyond the troubled way ; 
I know I shall be happy then as in the days of 
yore, 
When I knelt beside my mother's knee to 
pray! 



Sun-Cdays of Song 13 

FAIR MEADOWS 

Fair meadows, ever soft to youthful feet ! 
And here, the waves of traffic never beat ; 
Like Isaac, now I stray at eve's calm tide, 
With peace, like fond Rebecca, at my side! 



LOVE'S HOUSE 

When you confessed a love that equalled mine, 
I built a lordly house that could not fall, 
And peopled it with joys to bide my call: 

Stained windows, frescoed panels, seats with 
wine 

In curtained alcoves ; statues of gods benign 
In shadowed niches stood; along each wall 
Old masters ranged; 'mid luminous lilies tall 

A perfumed fountain broke in a love song fine! 

How well love builded let long years attest. 
Its stately turrets still are seen afar, 
But down its halls the spiders heedless spin : 
Dethroned, the rapturous gods lie prone; the 
West 
Falls red through broken panes, on blight 

and scar. 
And fountain hushed and lilies drowned 
therein. 



14 Sun-CClays of Song 

A LOVE SONG 

To-day the smoke curls downward, 

And a mist clothes hill and lea; 
My lover's smile turns frownward, 

And the day is dark for me. 
Ah! never such summer weather 

Will scent the greenwood lane, 
As when we two roamed together 

And sang love's sweet refrain! 

Sweet chimes far bells are ringing 

Somewhere down yonder vale; 
Near my pathway a robin is singing 

Love's ever disconsolate tale. 
And I wait here in the gloaming. 

But I know all the tides of the sea 
And all of the world's wide roaming, 

Will never bring you to me ! 



JUSTICE 

The pair of scales she holds aloft will turn 
At smallest fragment in the balance thrown; 

With bandaged brow how can she well discern, 
Or how distinguish with her eyes of stone? 



Sun-Cdays of Song 15 

FOR LOVE OF YOU 

For love of you, the morning rises fair; 

The skies are always tinged with deeper blue, 
And flowers dispense a thousand odors rare, 
For love of you. 

And gladly all the birds their songs renew, 

Without one note of discord or of care; 
Nor do the gardens grow one sprig of rue. 

The raiment of sweet peace all things do wear; 

One chord of joy is gayly pulsing through 
The land to-day ; and hope's gay feast I share. 
For love of you. 



MILKWEEDS 

"Like subjects of an eastern clime 

The milkweeds stand," I said one day. 

In Autumn's bright and golden time. 
When fleecy clouds were out to play. 

The Sultan Wind's command, then loud 
Rang out, and it had scarcely done, 

When, rank on rank, they softly bowed. 
And doffed their turbans, every one! 



16 8uti-^a>>s of Song 

THE OTHER LIFE 

I CANNOT help but think how richer far 
Are you, my friend, who paid long years ago 
The debt that I as mortal, too, must pay. 

I never think of you as gone, but changed, 
Transmuted from the dust to earth-born things 
By wondrous crucible within the earth. 
And clear alembic of meandering streams. 

Air claims a part of your sweet presence; buds 
That open by the wayside and the rills. 
Or star the azure fields ; your beauty bides 
In delicate draperies wherein the moon 
Enfolds herself, when, over Latmus' hill. 
She looks down on her fair Endymion, 
Who bears like me the mortal thrall of life. 

And you are with me everywhere I turn ; 
In clouds that brighten in the upper air, 
Or blush when the long day goes out at last; 
The snow's white sanctity, the crystal dew, 
And mists that curl from altars of the morn. 

And when the rain has gone, and clouds repose 
In fair and pleasing visions in the east, 
The sun comes out and over hill and vale, 
From raindrops and the vapor of the sky, 



Sun-Clays of Song 17 

He weaves the arch that spans the world with 

hght; 
And there I see your presence shining still 
Within the rainbow's splendor, seven-fold. 

And myriad ministrations yet will come, 

And kindly offices that never cease, 

As still the years pursue their endless course. 

The beauty of the blossoms that bedeck 
The bride and load the breeze with odors rare. 
Is yours. The waxen flowers that are held 
Within the senseless hand of him that's dead 
Speak of a resurrection soon his own. 

I hear your voice at nightfall in the pure 
Vernacular of the communing leaves 
That whisper lullabies to my sad soul. 
And charm me with their old-time melodies. 
The lapse of waves along the wooded shore 
When I sit down at eve to watch the stars 
Entrance the dusk with countless white resolves, 
Is still the sound that pleased me long ago ! 

I bide my time till interfused and mixed. 
The elements that know corruption here 
Shall put off dull mortality, and sleep 
Forever in a clasped and close embrace. 
And be companions to the stars, and run 
Through all the generations of the flowers! 



18 Sun-CClays of Song 

IN A ROSE'S LIFE 

We stood within a flowered close 
One April eve as twilight fell; 

The world was wrapped in deep repose, 
My heart in love's fond spell. 

The answer I should have that night, 
A little while she would delay; 

Who felt duress of love's sweet might, 
Could nothing but obey ! 

Love's calendar evoked my praise, 
And made delay seem less unkind; 

She searched a rose-tree's clustered sprays, 
The smallest bud to find. 



The night it blooms, your answer then." 
In fear I said, "How shall I know 

This rose from sister roses, when 
The garden's all a-blow?" 

For answer then a tress of hair 

She took and bound with touches light 

The bud, its mission to declare. 

And turned and said, "Good night." 



Sun-Cdays of Song 19 

Time's current seemed a sluggish tide, 
The dial felt some sunless thrall; 

All other gardens," once I cried, 
"Have not a bud so small!" 



It seemed the miracle of Spring 

Whose touches woke each sleeping eye, 

This bud's fulfillment could not bring. 
Or else had passed it by! 

The pulses of the May-time found 
Each tiny thing of leaf and blade; 

And that wee bud her tresses bound. 
How fair was it arrayed! 

To-night within a curtained room 
I gazed upon her slumber sweet; 

The garden slept in bowers of bloom, 
Restless my wild heart beat; 

I placed the rose, full-blown and fair. 
Still bound with tresses golden-bright, 

Above her heart, with love's fond care. 
And murmured low, "Good night!" 



20 Sun-CClays of Song 

"COME, GO A PIECE" 

How sweet are the sounds of the earliest words 

We whispered in days long since gone by, 
When the bells of cattle and songs of birds 

Grew fainter beneath the sunset sky ; 
When we grasped the hand of a little friend. 

And gazed away down the shadowy lane 
To the dark, deep woods at the other end. 

And softly whispered the old refrain, 
"Come, go a piece." 

When the wind came over the meadow wide 

With its burden of perfume fine and sweet. 
With a childish fear one stood by my side. 

With pink sunbonnet and bare brown feet ; 
Somehow, I could always understand 

The soft persuasion of smile and tear. 
Before she said, as she took my hand 

And whispered, close to my listening ear, 
"Come, go a piece." 

We were the happiest of children then ; 

We gathered flowers and swung on the gate: 
It seemed I was free for a lad of ten ; 

The rose in her cheek was red for eight. 
We never thought through the passing years 

How shadows lengthened with each day's sun ; 
Her pleasures were mingled with passing tears. 

And she always said, when the day was done, 
"Come, go a piece." 



Sun-days of Song 21 

And the years passed on. One Autumn came 

With a twitter of birds in the fading skies; 
On youth's fair altar love lit a flame, 

And I read the secret in downcast eyes. 
When I questioned her to know if she 

Would journey along where my pathway led, 
She looked away, in her innocent glee, 

And these were the only words she said, 
"Come, go a piece." 

We soon were wed, and the joy bells rang 

And the May-day beauty fiUed the air; 
The birds in their green cathedrals sang. 

And lanes were filled with a perfume rare. 
A white stone marks that a fine holiday. 

And I wrote on the beech tree's mossy rind, 
Like the gayest of youths, in childish play. 

The words that were ever in my mind, 
"Come, go a piece." 

At last, like the rest of the golden dreams 

That have cheered my way, the time drew 
near 
When we had to part — and to me it seems 

That my life has forever lost its cheer. 
The light burns low in the ashen cloud, 

The rose in the garden's in death's eclipse; 
And I hear once more, as when I bowed 

My head for the message of dying lips, 
"Come, go a piece." 



22 8un-^ay9 of Song 

The flowers she gave me are withered now, 

And the song she sang has slipped my mind; 
A thick mist blots out the page, somehow, 

The tokens I look for I cannot find ; 
And it seems to me when the lights are low. 

And the moon is hid, and the crickets still. 
Sweet tones drift back from the long ago. 

Trailing up and away from earthly ill, 
"Come, go a piece." 



THE SEEKER 

The lilies of repentance grow within a pool of 
tears ; 
The roses of remembrance bloom upon an un- 
known grave; 
The wine of true forgetfulness just for a mo- 
ment cheers ; 
The pearl I seek is buried in the sea's unfath- 
omed wave. 



A WOODLAND TRAGEDY 

A robin's feather! Blood drops steep 
The drifted leaves and forest mold; 

Ah ! here was staged a tragedy as deep 
As any of which Shakespeare told. 



Sun-^ays of Song 23 

THE MIGHTY GODS 

The air it seems is full of cloudy shapes 

Of mighty gods arrived on earth to dwell, 

Who deftly weave around their magic spell, 
Or deep within the valley press the grape's 
Empurpled globes, or from sea-looking capes. 

With flying garments, strike the airy shell; 

But here, close in the covert of this dell, 
Where day is mellowed by the vine that drapes 
The cavern's mouth, I watch and wait. It 
seems 

Brimmed beakers that I drain will not allure 
Their steps this way; that in a land of dreams, 

They have foresworn and henceforth will ab- 
jure 
The comradeship of man who dwells by streams 

The cloudy heavens with dark shades obscure. 



THE KING'S SWORD 

"The blade's too short," the craven guard re- 
plied. 
The king's son started forward, bold and 
bluff; 
"No sword's too short for one who's brave," he 
cried ; 
"Advance one step, 'twill then be long 
enough !" 



24 Sun-dl^yQ of Song 

"THOSE WHO GO DOWN TO THE SEA 
IN SHIPS" 

When the young leaves on the willows are green 

and the wind is fresh from the South, 
It is then I feel again your kisses warm on my 
mouth ! 
But the stormy day 
You sailed away 
Brought sorrow to my door, 
And it seems to me that the hand of hope can 
be lifted never more ! 

When I hear the ocean murmur, and the wind 

is hoarse with pain, 
When this long, lone stretch of land is gray with 
mist and rain. 
Then I look and long 
For your boat and song 
To bring sweet peace to me. 
As I wait with heart as restless as the restless 
waves of the sea ! 

Ah! those who go down to the sea in ships, to 

the cruel, treacherous sea, 
They take all the sunshine with them who bide 
the waves' decree! 
The star that you steered by 
Is never seen by the eye 



Sun-CD[ay8 of 8ong 25 

That shone when you looked at me 
With love's own fond reflection ! (Oh, the deso- 
late days to be!) 

Oh ! for a dream of the golden past, to drop this 

ceaseless pain, 
To wander again with you by the hedgerows 
down the lane; 
To feel again the Spring, 
With the birds upon the wing; 
The sea as blue as your eye, 
And never a sign of cloud-rack above in the 
cloudless sky! 

It seems I am wedded to my grief! But the 

lonely curlew's call. 
The seaweed and the dulse that with the surges 
rise and fall, 
Tell of the passing day. 
And a boat to sail away 
Beyond this sad sea wall 

To a far-off haven secure with a blue sky over 
all. 

OUR DAILY WORK 

Not by remembrance of past service, will 

The world's regard be evermore maintained; 

A constant tribute it demands, and still 
With ceaseless effort is the summit gained. 



26 Bun-CClays of Song 



WANDERLUST 

The spirit of the rover was God's heritage to 

me, 
Who finds no true abiding place upon the land 

or sea! 
The Hours are my servitors to plume my wings 

for flight, 
Nor inglenook or hospice calls in vale or on the 

height. 

I worship in no temple far withdrawn from 

sight of man, 
My altar fills the star-sown space and knows not 

any ban ; 
And home to which the weary turn, I only seek 

awhile. 
Till in the sea of fancy I can sight some mystic 

isle! 

In Barcan wilds, and then by blue Sicilian 

waves I pause, 
Or lean with Juliet to hear fond Romeo's heart 

cause ; 
In garden-grounds, the nightingale I hear with 

pensive Keats, 
Or listen to the story that the dark-eyed Ruth 

repeats. 



8un-<CClay9 of Song 27 

From far, the African karroo with sedge and 
bushes gray, 

And then the Incas' fallen shrines make desolate 
the day; 

Stretching beneath a waste of snow the plains 
of Astracan, 

Or gleams the icy Samoed shore, unloved, un- 
sought by man. 

But the spirit of the rover, still insistent beck- 
ons on, 

To the tropic's ruby sunset and the arctic's 
pearly dawn; 

By open casements looking forth on moonlit 
seas at night. 

Or where the blue noon settles on some lonely 
Asian height. 

No morning calls me to the field, no sunset 

brings me back! 
Will death's revealment offer me a wide and 

endless track? 
Ah ! heaven will be bliss, indeed, if in its region 

vast, 
The spirit of the rover can content itself at 

last! 



28 Sun-Cdays of Song 

SUCCESS 

Because I toiled and failed once at a task, 
With purposeless zeal, shall I now suspend 

Further attempt? Wear failure's tinsel mask? 
Bound by disaster's shackles to the end? 

No! with to-morrow, breaking this restraint, 
And faced about, full-purposed to the last, 

In brightest tints the future I shall paint. 
And not retouch the background of the past. 



"A HOUSE UPON THE HILLSIDE" 

There's a house upon the hillside where my 
memory ever turns 
When the night across this foreign land- 
scape falls ; 
Through the little latticed window I can see 
the light that bums, 
And I always hear the cricket as it calls ! 
And no matter where I wander, on the sea or 
on the land, 
When the lamps are lit in all the homes, I 
know 
There is one placed in the window by a mother's 
loving hand. 
And I read love's deathless message in its 
glow! 



Sun-Cdays of Song 29 

On a golden summer evening, when across the 
fields I strayed 
On an errand up and down the country side, 
Or when in the darkened dingle after night I 
was delayed, 
She would trim the light to be my homeward 
guide. 
And whatever fancy gathers, when the evening 
star is high, 
And my loved one's casement opens on the 
foam, 
Above the perfumed glitter I can see with tear- 
ful eye. 
The light that mother trims for me at home! 

NIGHT 

Night, like a gloomy Rembrandt, throws 
Dark shades on western skies of rose. 
Where, like a traveler worn and gray, 
Bends low to rest the cheerless day. 

CONTENTMENT 

"A gift!" the roses wished at early dawn, 

And thorns were given to them and they 
cried : 
They wept until they saw the feeding fawn 
Devour defenseless lilies by their side. 



30 Sun-glays of Song 

WELCOME OF THE WOODS 

Now May has come, the robins sing 
Of seas of bloom and skies of blue; 

The butterfly has spread its wing, 
And from the dell the turtles coo. 

To cloudless skies a brighter hue 

The beams of morning daily bring; 

While floating out in chorus true, 

"Now May has come," the robins sing. 

The southern breezes softly swing 

The grasses strung with beads of dew; 

Fair scenes the waves are picturing 
Of seas of bloom and skies of blue. 

The swallows down the vale pursue 
Each other in a ceaseless ring ; 

And that old scenes it may renew 
The butterfly has spread its wing. 

We now recall the words "A thing 
Of beauty is a joy," as true; 

Red roses to the lattice cling, 

And from the dell the turtles coo. 

Ah! sweetheart, as the flowers do, 
Sweet kisses to the wind we'll fling; 

And hand-in-hand we'll journey to 
The land of love's own fashioning. 
Now May has come! 



Bun-glays of Song 31 

THE OVERCOMER'S JOY 

Though longing for deliverance, I pray 
In thus obtaining it, I shall employ 

My hands alone; that gaining freedom's day, 
I shall not miss the overcomer's joy! 



DROUGHT 

No BAIN to-day ! 

Once more the cloudless sky 
Like a brazen buckler bends above the land; 
Down desert ways the sun with fiery brand. 
By faintest cloud unchallenged, now goes by; 
Beneath his blaze the valleys swooning lie: 
The hills like uncomplaining Druids stand, 
And take the red baptism from his hand. 
Which speaks of Vulcan and Olympus high. 

No sound is there to break the drowsy reign 
Of quietude! 

(A cricket lifts the latch 
Of silence for a moment, and would deign 
The glassy stillness of the day to scratch 
With song's sharp diamond!) 

The unmoving vane 
For steadfastness one painted may not match. 



32 Sun-Cdays of Song 

SONG OF CHILDHOOD DAYS 

Oh ! the song of childhood days, 
'Tis the sweetest of all lays, 
And I love to go and sing it back among the 
pleasant ways ; 
Where the clearest waters flow 
And the fairest flowers blow, 
Down the valleys and the meadows of the happy 
long ago. 

There the robin high a-tilt 
Gave to me his joyous lilt 
When the wooing wind from violets the crystal 
dewdrops spilt ; 
Black-eyed crickets in the grass 
Sang to those who chanced to pass 
When the mounted sun was glowing like a bowl 
of burnished brass. 



Oh ! the splendor of that noon, 
When the fields began to swoon 
In a dream of summer rapture with the locusts 
all a-croon ; 
River-ripples, cool and sweet, 
Kissed the little, sun-burnt feet, 
And the broad fields glowed and glimmered in 
the waves of dazzling heat. 



Sun-^ays of Song 33 

With the quiet shades of eve, 
When the night began to weave 
A coronal of splendor, and the lowing kine to 
leave 
Fields where they had fed all day, 
Winding up the well-known way, 
Came a repertoire of music from the whip-poor- 
will's far lay. 



Still the forest-land retains 
All the pleasing, sweet refrains, 
And the flowered fields grow fragrant at the 
kiss of summer rains ; 
Still the sparkling brooklets fall 
'Mid lush grasses growing tall. 
And the locust nicks the silence with its sharp 
staccato call. 



Oh ! the song of childhood days, 
'Tis the sweetest of all lays, 
And I love to go and sing it back among the 
pleasant ways ; 
There the music of the wrens. 
With the ripples in the glens. 
Joins the lay of sweet thanksgiving that from 
out my soul ascends ! 



34 Sun-days of Song 

A DEW-DROP'S MONOLOGUE 

I DREAMED last night I heard a drop of dew 
In monologue ; it said, " When first the dawn 
Of Eden blushed, I glittered on the lawn ; 

Then from the flood, I watched the ark pursue 

Its cheerless course ; and Moses passing through 
The Red Sea, I beheld; when hope was gone, 
At touch of Aaron's rod, my feet were drawn 

By some charmed spell down that rock avenue! 

" I have passed up and down the countless ways 
Of sea and land: on Etna's burning cone, 

My lips are often parched ; in blinding haze 
Of Labrador I grope, and in the Polar zone, 

My tongue grows palsied; oft my soul surveys. 
And faces death from dread Niagara's 
throne ! " 



BALLADE OF MILKING TIME 

June roses scent the sparkling meads. 

Their odors fill the country lanes. 
Now, that a breadth of blue succeeds 

The dripping trees and misty panes; 

While lyrists offer their refrains 
And swell the note to heights sublime. 

My muse will sing of summer rains 
That clear up, just at milking time. 



Sun-Cdays of Bong 35 

From bluer depths the rainbow speeds, 
And with its splendor softly wanes 

The wealth of which the story reads, 
Once tempting us; now fancy deigns 
Such gems, preferring airy strains 

The redbreasts chant in liquid chime; 
The far-heard fame of summer rains 

That clear up, just at milking time. 

'Mid grasses strung with dewy beads, 
Do milkmaids go; a tree toad gains 

His mushroom music-stool, and leads 
The rural choir; yon peacock trains 
Proudly his plumage out, and seines 

The sun's low beams in spotted rhyme; 
Bright chorus to the summer rains 

That clear up, just at milking time. 

l'envoi 
Prince, loving every link that chains 

Brave heroes of romance, still I'm 
In love with those soft summer rains 

That clear up, just at milking time! 



36 Sun-Cdays of Song 

LOVE CAN NEVER PROVE UNKIND 

You would question me how long 

'Twill be till I lose the art 
Of repeating love's sweet song 
I so early learned by heart; 
When to you I shall not read 

Charming bits of verse or prose, 
Or with eager footsteps speed 
With the tribute of a rose! 
In my heart 'twill be enshrined 
When all other grace is fled; 
Till the stars above grow blind, 
And the sea gives up its dead! 
Love can never prove unkind. 

To the last its light is shed; 
Till the stars above grow blind. 
And the sea gives up its dead! 

It was sweet to you in days 

Of our fair and trustful youth, 
And in Autumn's blinding haze 

You will never doubt its tinith ; 
Songsters may forsake the bough 

Snow may fill the empty nest, 
But your weary head as now 

In my arms shall find a rest! 
And my lips to yours inclined 

Will impress the truth they said, 



8un-<nay9 of Song 37 

Till the stars above grow blind, 
And the sea gives up its dead ! 
Love can never prove unkind, 

To the last its light is shed; 
Till the stars above grow blind, 
And the sea gives up its dead! 



THE HIGHER FAITH 

He sends no burden we may not endure, 
And after labor there is sweet release; 

The midnight billows we may sail secure, 
Certain of refuge and a port of peace. 

For comfort call to " Him Who sitting in 
The circle of the heaven" heard the cry 

Of those weak voices over all the din. 
And fed the ravens. He is ever nigh. 

And when the shadows gather like a pall. 
The more implicitly trust in the Lord; 

When perils threaten us, we should recall 
Our part is to obey; God's to reward. 

"Commit thy ways unto the Lord," and thou 

Triumphant into port shall ride at last. 
Sweet comfort in thy heart and on thy brow 
The sunshine speaking of the tempest past! 



38 Suii-^Cla>>8 of 8ong 

WHEN LILACS BLOOM 

When lilacs bloom their purple sprays 
With subtle scent the airs perfume; 
What splendor fills the summer days, 
When lilacs bloom ! 

And flitting through the fragrant gloom, 

The humming bird with breast ablaze, 
Threads shuttle-wise the Summer's loom! 

My loved one then with taste arrays 

Her golden locks, while I assume 
A lover's guise, and seek old ways, 
When lilacs bloom. 

FROM GRAY TO GOLD 

From gray to gold the clouds that rise 

In eastern heavens dim and cold. 
Are turning now in sweet surprise 
From gray to gold. 

Where shadows stretch across the wold, 

A wakened songster softly tries 
What charm the drowsy echoes hold. 

With Titan sweep and gorgeous dyes 

The dawn, with master touches bold. 
Transmutes the earth, the seas, the skies. 
From gray to gold. 



Sun-Cdays of Song 39 

INDIAN SUMMER 
The days are rich with sweetest perfume float- 
ing 
From forest aisles and drifting autumn 

leaves ; 
Of piping quail, amid the sun-browned 
sheaves ; 
Fair water-lilies, on the clear streams boating; 
From stake-and-ridered fence, the crystal not- 
ing 
Of meadow-lark is heard; the wind oft 

grieves, 
And chirpings come from swallow-haunted 
eaves, 
With bees the red hush to their thrift devoting. 
How fair the beauty crowning hills and vales 
Of Indian Summer, where the far, faint call 
Of children thrids the dreaming atmosphere; 
Bright over wooded crests, as daylight pales, 
The new moon curves against the western 

wall. 
And dreams repeat the songs we love to hear. 

AT DAWN 

Although to-night I drift in moonless narrows. 
And not a ripple stirs, nor any breeze; 

The tide and wind will rise soon, and to-mor- 
row's 
Unclouded dawn will find me on high seas! 



40 dun-^ays of Song 

ASLEEP AT POST 

" Asleep at post ! " the guard had said. 
This was the sentence that was read, 
While to his comrades a dozen guns 
Were handed: six were empty ones, 
The others charged with balls of lead. 

He marched to death with firmest tread! 
With all-kind care we pillowed his head 
Close where the Rappahannock runs. 
Asleep at post. 

I knew how night by night he had sped 
To watch by a wounded comrade's bed, 

With a hand as tender as any nun's ; 

I carved, "The bravest of our sons 
Is tenting here, where watch is fled. 
Asleep at post." 



THE ROSE'S RIVAL 

Reaching to pluck a rose, her sleeve 
Displayed her lovely arm; 

I gazed entranced, and still believe 
It had the greater charm. 



Sun-Cdays of Song 41 

THE OLD WATERMILL 

'Neath shadows of yon vine-clad ledge, 

The old-time watermill, aloof 
From dreary wastes of sand and sedge, 

Leans, with its broken roof. 

The barren rafters lift on high 

Their signals of distress, and dark 

They gleam against the summer sky, 
Lone, featureless and stark. 

In circling flight the pigeon's wing 
Cleaves with a flash the tideless air; 

The bats in nooks and crannies cling. 
Shunning the noonday glare. 

Above where worn and broken eaves 
Filter the sunshine and the rain. 

In tireless mood, the spider weaves 
His radiating skein. 

Scarcely the eye can mark the flight 
Of lizards on the crumbling walls. 

So quick they vanish from the sight 
When alien footstep falls. 

The leaves of many Autumns sleep. 
Winnowed about the dusty floor; 

Winds of each wild November reap 
And garner to the store. 



42 dun-^ays of Bong 

The race that lent the full supply 

Of water to the busy wheel, 
Is but a pool where rushes sigh, 

And frogs their chorus peal. 

Tall trees their glossy banners flaunt 
Above the channel long run dry. 

And there the rain-crows hide and haunt, 
Sounding their boding cry. 

On yonder mossy, grass-grown height, 
The miller takes his sweet repose; 

The stone that marks his grave is white 
As were his dusty clothes. 

His time in deeds that bless and cheer 
He made sweet service to employ; 

Gladly each day and month and year 
Gave him its toll of joy! 

And while he watched the dropping meal, 
And soaring swallows circling near. 

His cheerful song and whirring wheel 
Made music sweet to hear. 

The happy voice at last grew low; 

And where the softest zephyr sighs, 
His rest, by fairest flowers that blow. 

The Summer sanctifies. 



Sun-days of Song 43 

No more the whirring water-wheel's 
Insistent music greets the ear; 

No song nor laughter upward steals, 
When early stars appear. 

But often comes to fancy's sight, 

At twilight, by the open door. 
The miller in his vesture white, 

A moment — and no more ! 

THE GIFT 

The ship of dawn comes up the eastern sky ! 
Each sail is big with promise; in her hold, 
Are treasure-troves ; Bokhara's finest gold. 

Tankards of wine, with robes of Tyrian dye 

Perfumed with Khoten musk; no Sybarite's eye 
Like splendor saw by Nemi's shores of old. 
Nor could Aladdin's lamp such wealth un- 
fold; 

Alburz and Kaf these gems could not supply. 

And each receives his gift with words of praise, 
For from such largess there are gifts for all ; 
I bide the last of all this countless throng. 

And then turn homeward down the crowded 
ways. 
With happy heart ; pressing, lest I let fall 
The priceless boon I crave, the gift of song! 



44 Sun-Cdays of Bong 

THE STARS 

I SAW the sunlight cease to shine 

In gloomy clouds along the West; 

I likened then its fate to mine, 

And dark forebodings filled my breast. 

To think its bright and golden reign, 
That gave the rose and lily birth. 

Would pass away, and naught remain, 
In token of its fame and worth. 

Then from the daylight's dying flame, 
I saw the evening star stoop down 

And light his torch, and then he came 
A victor laureled with his crown. 

And there, as in the ancient play, 
Performers gliding to and fro 

Would pass a lighted torch, its ray 
Soon set the heavens all aglow. 

In reverence I raised my head, 

And that fair pageantry I viewed; 

The soul's survival then I read, 
Within the star's similtude. 

Immortal songs I seemed to hear. 

No longer cheerless seemed the earth; 

And far within that glowing sphere. 
The lily and the rose had birth ! 



8un-CClay8 of Song 45 

GYPSIES 

The gypsies camped last night by Goodman's 
ford: 
The sun just touched the forest when they 

made 
Their merry camp, and soon the laggards 
strayed 
And begged some fragment from each farmer's 

hoard ; 
They soon returned with baskets heaped and 
stored, 
And spread the feast ; ere long the dusky 

glade 
Was lighted by their fire; the watch-dogs 
bayed. 
While strains of music down the twilight 
poured. 

Their camp is shown us by the close-cropped 
grass, 
And fading wreaths of smoke that upward 

tend; 

For heedless of the cardinal points they roam ; 

Sad waifs, blown by the winds of time they pass 

Down thoroughfares that have no visible end, 

Uncheered by blazing hearth or welcome 

home. 



46 Sun-CCla>>8 of Song 

IN THE AUTUMN 

Wings of gnats are burning tapers 
In the sun's bright golden vapors ; 

Somber shadows bent and tangled, 
Stretch across the weedy land; 
Quails begin their evening whistle, 
While the sparrow quits the thistle; 

Lines of crows all wrecked and wrangled, 

Darken down the forest-land. 



Frosted boughs are sharply etching 
Barren twigs against the stretching, 
Golden clouds, up-piled in wonder. 
In the Summer's far retreat ; 
While, above the burning clearing. 
Flocks of geese are swiftly steering 
Southward, with their snowy under- 
Wings aglow with fiery heat. 

High above, amid the gloaming. 
Flights of pigeons now are homing, 

Where the weather-vane gleams amber. 
Pointing to the dusky South; 
Wheeling round the hay-stacks, anchored 
Down with rails, o'er meadows cankered, 
Where the dying vines still clamber. 
Fading 'neath the blighting drought. 



8un-CClay9 of Song 47 

Lilacs beat their chilly fingers 
On the pane; one rosebud lingers, 
Still rebellious, vainly waiting 
For the breeze that long has fled ; 
Broken in the frosted thickets, 
Are the redbirds' flutes ; the crickets 
Their gay songs are alternating 
With a strain for pleasures dead. 

Overhead, the moon is globing. 
Daylight, for departure robing ; 
Largess of the golden weather 
Seeking out a sunny clime; 
Now, I take these withered flowers, 
From the faded, pillaged bowers, 
Tributes, tying them together 
With this broken cord of rhyme. 

NOW THAT WE PART 

Now that we part, I send you back the rhjmae 
On lovers made. Across this broken heart, 

I write, "Snows hush the lily's golden chime. 
Now that we part." 

The crimson dawn will lose its pleasing art 
Of song and mist ; and, for their sunny clime, 

To come no more, the swallows will depart. 

The rose, fair herald of the summer's prime, 
In garden depths to brighter life will start, 

To shed its splendor long before its time. 
Now that we part. 



48 Sun-Cdays of Song 

WHEN MOTHER DIED 

They told me in the night that she was dead, 
And then I knew from out my hfe had fled 
All beauty; that thenceforth my pathway led 
In lonely lands ; that I should miss the red 
Of woodland roses and the morning's glow. 

For she was my best friend! The words she said 
In prayer each night beside my trundle bed, 
I still recall ; the pillow that she spread 
With such a touch that I no more can know! 

She sought the smoothest ways for me to go. 
Her sweetest faith brought all the mountains 

low! 
The seeds of kindness that she planted grow, 
Are blooming now unharmed by frost or snow. 
By crystal dews of heaven nightly fed. 

And when I dwell upon the long ago. 
Her smile to me is bright as was the bow 
To those upon the flood ! I miss it so 
Now when the winds unbridled wildly blow. 
And rains descend on my defenseless head! 



Sun-Cniays of Song 49 

THE ROSE AND THE BIRD 

The wind and the rain, in the garden last night, 
Brought hfe to a rose that was drooping its 
head; 

Its beautiful tints were a charm to the sight, 
And its odor around me was shed. 

I thought what a blessing to flowers that 
yearned 
For the kiss of the rain was the shower, when 
I found 
Near the pathway, a dainty, wee nest over- 
turned. 
And a bird lying dead on the ground. 

When the days of the Summer grow sunny and 
fair. 
Shall I be the gainer or loser, I said; 
Which charm would have pleased most, the odor 
so rare. 
Or the song of the bird that is dead.^* 



THE TRULY BRAVE 

Rose-petals shrink before the storm and sleet. 
But oak-leaves closer in the tempest cling; 

Faint hearts despair; others where surges beat, 
Hold to the drifting wreck and sweetly sing! 



50 Sun-Cdays of Bong 

THE PATHWAY 

Wherewith shall I be clothed in future years, 
If now I place from sight with little care 
The garment of your love you bid me wear? 

How the keen wind of the chill Autumn sears 

And sweeps the valley where no more appears 
The Summer's herald with its welcome fair; 
And whither for love's comfort then repair? 

Where seek for shelter when the Winter nears? 

Dear heart, let me abide ! I ask no more 
Than just the circle of your arms and this, 
Your love's enfolding presence, dim and 
sweet ; 

Now let me learn the pathway to your door, 
So that its flowered close I may not miss. 
And learn love's lesson sitting at your feet ! 



GREENWOOD CHAPELRY 

Oh! greenwood chapelry, fair down your dim 
And cloistered aisles the early stars appear; 

The winds, like Druids, at their vesper hymn, 
Along the Gothic arches whisper clear. 

The day, like Desdemona, sinks to sleep 
Within the crimson curtains of the west; 

And night, like dark Othello, soon will weep 
Above her peaceful and unending rest. 



Sun-Cdays of Song 51 

APPLE BLOSSOMS 

The Alpine peaks with crystal hoods of snow, 

The ruins crowning heights along the Rhine, 
Are views both beautiful and grand, I know ; 

But there's another closer home — and mine! 
'Tis where a brown old homestead nestles soft 

Against a hill where meadows stretch away, 
And in the wind-swept branches, high aloft. 

The robin gives to all his sweetest lay; 
The scene is one of rapture and of bliss. 

When breezes of the early summer blow, 
And the red lips of the apple blossoms kiss 

The blue eyes of the violets below! 



Let others fare to far-off distant climes. 

Enraptured by each castle, crag and scaur. 
The wonders of the olden, vanished times. 

Of sunny scenes that sleep in isles afar; 
Home-biding, let me wander here where swell 

The flowered fields whose scented billows roll 
With white caps of the daisies; winds that tell 

The secret of the rose whose heart they stole; 
That I, for just one season, may not miss 

The beauties of the scene I cherish so ; 
When the red lips of the apple blossoms kiss 

The blue eyes of the violets below I 



52 Sun-Cdays of Song 

BROKEN SHRINES 

I ONE time owned an ornament of gold, 
A fragile little thing some skilful hand 
Had fashioned like a heart; at each demand 

Of careless touch 'twould bend; this manifold 

And constant stress it bore, till lo ! behold. 
The delicate design could not withstand 
Another touch, and broke! In all the land 

Can naught restore it, perfect as of old. 

I had a friend whose heart as pure and true 
As beaten gold, I ofttimes wilful bent 
By careless act or word unkindly spoken; 

Till like the ornament of gold I knew, 
And by some deed that I so little meant. 
Beyond all remedy it now lies broken! 

SERENADE 

Now, that the stars begin to wreathe 
Their bright and silver sprays on high, 

I pray the lightest winds that breathe, 
Around your casement's ledge to sigh. 

Love, I would have you sweetly sleep, 
With heart unknown to cares or aches ; 

Though mine, as here my watch I keep, 
Beneath your window nightly breaks ! 

And still in fondest dreams repeat 
The song I love to sing you. Sweet. 



Bun-CClays of Song 53 

A WISH 

Why should I linger on 

When night is round my way, 
And not a star to guide 
My weary feet? 
Far distant is the dawn 
With crimson tide, 
That speeds the ship of day 
To ports less sweet. 

That chariot of flame 
Elijah once possessed, 
I pray the Lord of Hosts 
Were mine to-night ; 
That when the morning came, 
Old earth's dim coasts 
Could only be half -guessed 
From Heaven's height. 

TWO MOODS 

A FINE musician is the wind. A small. 
Unnoticed crevice in my window-pane 

Admits the tiny lisper; there through all 
The summer day he sings a sweet refrain. 

A grand musician is the wind. He lays 
His mighty hand upon the ocean waves; 

While distant worlds of tumult, in amaze 
Attendant, listen to the thundrous staves ! 



54 Sun-Cdays of Song 

ENDEAVOR 

Up ! and be onward farcing, 
The race has just begun; 

The laurel worth the wearing 
Is worthy to be won ! 

The farther up, the fairer 
Unfolds the scene below; 

Then upward, banner-bearer, 
And brave the heights of snow. 

The stars there closer cluster. 
The skies are nearer bowed; 

All shine with brighter luster, 
Undimmed by any cloud. 

Not half way up the mountain, 
The crystal waters drop ; 

Your thirst slake at the fountain 
That gushes from the top. 

No flag of truce upraising. 
Nor brook a moment's stay ; 

But upward still be gazing. 
And find or make a way ! 

With foosteps waiting eager 
To-morrow's golden round; 

What foeman can beleaguer 
Such soul to triumph bound? 



Sun-Cdays of Song 55 

Heed not the lips confessing 

Rare visions of delight ; 
But onward still be pressing, 

And keep the goal in sight. 

(Endymion lies sleeping 

Beside the Latmus hill, 
With brave old Atlas keeping 

The world from wreck and ill.) 

Through hindrances that cumber, 
The race will yet be won; 

And sweet will be the slumber 
That follows work well done! 

AN AUTUMN SCENE 

As from the fingers of a sleeping child. 
The loosened toys so gently slip and fall 
He has no knowledge of their loss at all; 

So by the thickets, with song gushes wild, 

Reclines the peaceful Autumn, reconciled 
To early loss ; for fairer dreams forestall 
The goldenrod and milkweed's airy ball; 

The far-off, brooding splendor of the mild 

And sober afternoons. On southern walls. 
The grapes begin to purple; peaches turn 

In blushing beauty to the light that falls 
Subdued and soft ; the drowsy crickets learn 

A song of sorrow, and the partridge calls 
In sadder strains as sunsets fainter burn. 



56 Sun-Cdays of Song 

IN THE GARDEN 

There is a little garden spot 
Wherein my sorrows are forgot! 
It lies upon a southern slope ; 
Full to the sun does blue-eyed Hope 
Blossom sweet ; bees throng to kiss 
Perennial feasts of nectared bliss ; 
With largess of leaf and bud it blows, 
Nor ever feels the weight of snows! 

Of tare, no single stalk appears ; 
But golden grain the land endears ! 
When sorrow presses closely, there 
I find relief from carking care ; 
For when the latch clicks, far behind 
Is left all turbulence of mind. 

Inside, I seek the quiet bower 
Where dusk and odor sweet are blent. 
And my heart then like the flower 
Knows of nothing but content. 

Upon the velvet turf reclined. 
Do fairy dreams possess my mind. 
The necklace of bright Pleiades 
Is hung upon the mossy trees. 
And bits of enamel on the grass 
Glitter as roaming breezes pass ; 



Sun-CClays of Song 57 

Golden skies of promise spread, 
Rest on the hilltop far ahead, 
And glory of remembered days 
Melts behind me in the haze. 

Rich shareholder now am I 
In the Unachieved, while free 
To harbors of high purpose blown 
Are my full sails whitely sown 
On the dark waves of the sea, 
Bounded only by the sky ! 

Now my faith to vision turns, 
And conj ecture, into fact ; 
And the hero's heart I lacked, 
Wakens and for action yearns ! 



SONG'S MISSION 

Sweet bird, above the river-side. 
That ushers in the rising dawn; 

Does neither grief nor pain abide. 
Where you keep singing on? 

Or is the art of yours like mine, 

That oft a page with rhyme adorns; 

A wreath of song would gladly twine, 
To hide the piercing thorn ! 



58 Sun-CClays of Song 

A DEAD BEE 

Within the golden lily's scented bell 

The bold freebooter lies. No royal king 
Has couch more splendid. Folded is his wing 

From further conquest down the sunny dell. 

His shining shield, beside him where he fell, 
Reflects no more the glint of tourneying; 
No more among the roses will he sing, 

Nor in the meadow lands at noontide dwell. 

He's dead — this is the only thing we say — 
And profitless his busy summer task; 

A million others fill the sun's fair ray; 

Although he's dead, we do not stop to ask. 

So when I, too, have toiled and passed away, 
Will Nature smile behind her tearless mask. 



THE MEETING 

We met but once, in public ways, 
Along the city's crowded street; 

But ever since then through the days 
My heart for you has fondly beat. 

We met and passed, you spoke no word. 
But scarcely could the siren's song 

Be sweet as that the silence stirred; 
And still it echoes all day long! 



8un-CCla>>9 of Bong 59 

THE SEARCHER 

The wonders of that snow-clad realm afar, 
That soul will know which danger cannot 
tame; 

Who hopes to know the secret of the star, 
Must ask the firefly with its heart aflame! 

THE SIBYLLINE BOOKS 

Tarquin the Proud, from Sibyl thought to 
buy 
The Sibylline volumes — nine of them all 
told; 
But reasoned a moment, for the price was high, 
And he was loth to give his precious gold. 

While bargaining thus, quickly into the fire 
Three books she cast, and when again he 
sought 
To cheapen further, roused was her valorous 
ire. 
Which to such fervent heat was hastily 
wrought. 

Three other volumes followed the first ; and then 
Nought could he do but pay the original 
price 
For the three remaining! Act! Oh, wisest of 
men; 
Heed Wisdom's call; she may not summom 
twice. 



60 Sun-^ays of Song 

THE ICONOCLAST 

A TALE is told about an ancient king 

Who worshipped idols with a love sincere; 

When he embraced the Christian faith a tear 
Stole down his cheek, for could he ever bring 
His mind to think so marvellous a thing 

As leaving them? But yet it does appear 

That he repented, and his idols dear 
He crushed — and then, beyond imagining! 
Within each image, swarthy, savage-faced, 

Fond votaries had stored their gems and gold 
And at his feet the diamonds that had graced 

Fine coronets in shining splendor rolled; 
And he, who left his idols, now was placed 

In opulence whose bounds could not be told! 



A DREAM MOOD 

The world of song is stilled to-day. 
There is no bird in bush or tree; 

On mountain top, the mist is gray. 
And gray the mist on hill and lea. 

My life is like a stream that glides 
With sails in snowy beauty furled ; 

It mirrors deep, in tranquil tides. 
The picture of this quiet world. 



Sun-Cdays of Song 61 

"THE INDOMITABLE WILL" 

Here on the height is reared my last redoubt, 
With flag unfurled in mute defiance ; foes 
In awful tumult soon will round it close, 

And there will rise the far-resounding shout 

Of thronging victors ; but through utter rout 
Of fondest hopes, a heart that never knows 
Aught of alarm will anticipate their blows. 

And death with ready hand will measure out. 

And when the foremost foe will scale the wall 
(For I must fail against such frightful odds) 

I will not shrink, but meet the blows that fall 
With heart undaunted. Not the mighty gods 

Can make me play a coward's part, though all 
Are fully armed with thunder-smiting rods ! 

THE STATUE 

A PERFECT statue, all could say. 
No slight defect could any tell; 

But, ah! its feet were made of clay, 
And as we praised it, lo! it fell. 

Now, what avails its golden crown. 
The sceptre that it proudly bore.? 

Oh, hands that strive to win renown. 
The silent lips are wise with lore ! 



62 Sun-Cdays of Song 

THE PLAIN BOW 

An archer once possessed a wondrous bow, 
Its fame extended all the country round; 

The owner prized it, for its arrows so 
Unerringly the mark had ever found. 

In hope to buy it, some one went each day. 

Yes, he would sell it rather than endure 
The pangs of poverty, but sought some way 

That still a better price he might procure. 

The bow was plain. He sought a carver out. 
And then to him his heart's desire he spoke; 

Ere long fine figures graced it round about, 
But, when the archer bent it, lo ! it broke. 

MIRACLE OF THE CORN 

The Son of Man, from the city of Bethlehem 
Departing, passed some sowers by the way ; 
Herod pursued. The Virgin wished of them. 
Should any ask when He had passed, to say 
To them, " At sowing of the corn." Behold ! 
When rosy dawn unbarred the gates of day, 
Ripened it stood; the sowers no more feared; 
And when the king and his followers appeared, 
Demanding when He passed there, he was 
told. 
No longer he pursued, dismissed his band; 
For bent the harvest to the reaper's hand. 



Sun-Cdays of Song 63 

THE MOTH AND THE SONG 

Impeisoned in the curtain's fold, 
A moth, gay-painted, lustre-eyed. 

Beat on the lace its gauze of gold. 
To gain the other side. 

I thought to free it with the dawn ; 

Then came a vision fair as those 
Bright-tressed Aurora paints upon 

The dew-impearled rose! 

The moth still fluttered, vainly beat 
With filmy wing the tinsel strands ; 

The dream reigned in dominion sweet, 
As those of eastern lands. 

Once more I thought to free its wing 
To seek the vale in careless flight, 

Then write the song some maid will sing 
Before the fall of night. 

When morning came, the moth had ceased 
Its struggle, to commence no more; 

Nor all the famed Magii of the East, 
Could my lost dream restore! 

For this delay, the moth will spread 
No more its wings in happy flight ; 

Yon maid will go with downcast head. 
And songless lips to-night! 



64 Suti-^ays of Song 

THE OWL 

When trail the purple shades of eventide 
And songsters of the sunny hours are still, 

The owl's refrain drifts from the forest wide, 
Across the oak-crowned hill: 

Tu whoo, tu whoo, tu whoo-whoo-whoo ! 

Amid the wildwood's intermingled bowers, 
All through the golden glowing reign of day, 

He dreaming sat, awaiting twilight hours 
To tune his pensive lay: 

Tu whoo, tu whoo, tu whoo-whoo-whoo! 

Beyond the hill, the sunset embers fade, 

And tranquil night her mantle wraps around ; 

Down forest aisle and deep-embowered glade. 
His mournful cries resound: 

Tu whoo, tu whoo, tu whoo-whoo-whoo ! 

The stars peer forth in heaven's pavilion high, 
Sweet Zephyrus above the woodland floats; 

Amid the dreaming leaves he wakes a sigh 
That mingles with the notes: 

Tu whoo, tu whoo, tu whoo-whoo-whoo ! 

The moon shines full above the eastern hill. 
Her beauty floods the valley and the plain; 

And, as her beams the dusky woodland fill. 
There comes this soft refrain: 

Tu whoo, tu whoo, tu whoo-whoo-whoo! 



Sun-days of Bong 65 

His gloomy eyes in ceaseless rapture stare 
As bright she climbs the heaven's ebon steep ; 

His praise to her the roaming breezes bear 
In accents lone and deep: 

Tu whoo, tu whoo, tu whoo-whoo-whoo ! 

A woodland hermit, here he dwells serene, 
Unvexed by turmoil or the cares of day ; 

A silent prospect round his lone demesne. 
And there he chants his lay : 

Tu whoo, tu whoo, tu whoo-whoo-whoo! 



THAT LOVE IS DEAD 

That love is dead, I know not who to name 

For censure now. I sometimes think, instead 
Of my own self, you are the one to blame 
That love is dead. 

The rose for me will never bloom as red 

Now that we separate; no more the same 
The pomp of Summer on the hills be spread. 

And grief above enjoyment now will claim 

The noon of night, when dimmer overhead 
The silver crescent hides in mist for shame 
That love is dead. 



66 Sun-Cdays of Bong 

LOVE'S BIRTH 

Now, when you love me, dear, 

You must love me truly ; 
Let your faith be full, sincere, 

Now, when you love me, dear. 
Then earth will bright appear ; 

So I inform you duly, 
Now, when you love me, dear, 

You must love me truly. 

Then, once more on earth 

Will the gods assemble ; 
Cupid's deep-dimpled mirth 

Then, once more on earth 
Sweetly will have its birth, 

And love's paean tremble ; 
Then, once more on earth, 

Will the gods assemble. 



BALLADE OF BLUE EYES AND 
CHERRY LIPS 

The flowers bend low to kiss the feet 
Of Marjorie down the country lanes; 

The Fauns half-way her coming greet, 
While charmed Silenus slyly drains 
A pledge to her; in happy strains, 



Sun-^DClays of Song 67 

Old Goat-foot sings, and gayly trips 
In honor of the sylph who reigns 
With sea-blue eyes and cherry lips. 

And then, the maiden moon discreet. 
In sunset's court and golden fanes, 

On snow-white hand, with gems replete, 
Will raise her head until she gains 
A view of hills and fair champaigns, 

Then hides her face in mute eclipse ; 
Enraptured now are all the swains. 

With sea-blue eyes and cherry lips. 

Her dainty footsteps, firm and neat. 
With jealous zeal the dust retains; 

(Crusoe would kneel!) and I entreat 
Noble knight-errant, such as Spain's 
Most gallant Don, to ward from trains 

Of ills, and guard the golden crypts 
Of her who sweet control maintains 

With sea-blue eyes and cherry lips. 

l'envoi 
Prince, there in her serene domains. 

Neglect is still the frost that nips ; 
My life she rules, commands, ordains. 

With sea-blue eyes and cherry lips! 



68 Sun-CClays of Song 

THE FLIGHT 

The sun swings low his orb in southern skies ; 
Across the fallow fields and woodland ways, 
But dimly shine his weak and clouded rays 

Where the west wind a tireless courier flies ; 

Now from old furrowed lands and meads arise 
The birds that often through the sunny days 
Lent sweet enchantment with their airy lays, 

And Southward hasten, uttering plaintive cries. 

From swaying branches as they take their 
flight, 
The last red leaves are gathered up and flung 
Wildly to earth by the wind that never rests ; 
With them departs sweet Summer's dear de- 
light, 
Save a faint, fleeting fragrance, or among 
The bare, brown boughs the desolated nests. 

ACCEPTABILITY 

" Two stanzas for the bottom of this page ! 
Have we a little poem that will fit ? " 
He tried the diff^erent stanzas with a gauge. 
I quivered quite a bit! 

But not with fright ! I knew I had no strength 
Nor aught to recommend ; but it is clear 

My author made me just the proper length. 
And that is why I'm here! 



8uii-CClay8 of Song 6» 

BECALMED 

To-day, each Muse within its woodland cell 
Or cavern cool, by shady fountain brink, 
Is wooed by slumber; not a single chink 

Admits throughout the forest's woven spell 

One ray of light; in drowsy mood they dwell 
And darkness yet unbroken, till I think 
Beyond my beck they lie and fancy's link 

Or fond endearment that they loved so well. 

Oblations to those listless gods, the grape 
Would offer from its chalice crystal clear; 

But none descends, beside the feast to shape 
His lips' soft curve to sip the ruddy cheer. 

And with turned prows, by yonder lonely cape, 
Ulysses bids his sailors sea-ward steer ! 

FRIENDSHIP 

I JOURNEYED once across a wind-swept plain, 
To mountains lifting high their summits 
grand ; 

And Love accompanied, singing a sweet refrain ; 
And Friendship, holding out a helping hand. 

Love's song, to-night in memory lives alone; 

But Friendship's hand grows firmer still in 
mine 
As bleaker barriers are before me thrown, 

To where aloft the stars unchallenged shine! 



70 8un-QIa>>9 of 8ong 

AN EXILE'S DREAM 

I SEE once more (or do I dream?) 

Sorrento as in days of old; 
How fair arrayed in sunset's gleam 

Of molten, umbery gold! 
Around, stretch bending orangeries, 
While from the terraced herbaries 
Odors of clove pinks drift across 
The waters as they leap and toss. 

As in the old Theocritan days, 

Pan-like, a goatherd idly there 
Beneath a holm oak softly plays 

A quaint, melodious air. 
By Falernus, the shepherd takes 
His sheep to crop the broomy brakes ; 
On rustic flute, some simple air 
He plays, and tends his fleecy care. 

StiU dreaming, stands Posilipo 

(Sacred to Adriana's lay) ; 
Sweet fancies of the long ago. 

Thronging the air alway! 
The worn vinedressers ever croon. 
Returning late beneath the moon, 
While echo-like to their refrain, 
Fishermen sing across the main. 



8iin-glay9 of Bong 71 

still from the cool pergolas rise 

Echoes of that departed day; 
Or where the felucca rocking lies, 

Or drifts by Caraf a. 
The cittern and pandoura sound, 
The pyrric dances float around; 
Be-ribboned tambourines invite 
To tarentellas, joyous, light! 



Sweet from the Pholegrean Fields, 
The odor of pomegranate fine; 
While every passing moment yields 

Dream fancies, half -divine! 
Here Summer makes her eternal throne, 
And claims the prospect as her own ; 
Perpetual green clothes every tree 
Toward the delightful Tyrrhene seal 



Where lifts Vesuvius on high, 

The rising moon begins to glow; 
And mounting, fills the dusky sky 

And purple vales below. 
Within the hedges, fireflies glance. 
Weaving the air in lambent dance; 
While silver cressets, tossing free. 
Tell of the fishing boats at sea! 



72 8un-^ay8 of Song 

Where the Phoenician galleys sped 

And caravels of that far day, 
The lateen-sails are thickly spread 

On the opalescent bay. 
Gone are the pleasant scenes of yore, 
That once enthralled by Capri's shore, 
Vanished, beyond our beck and call ; 
Hushed all the glorious littoral ! 



ONE YEAR AGO 

One year ago, beneath the sky, 
We stood together, you and I; 
It was the balmy prime of June: 
A thin, pale crescent of a moon. 
And chimes from ivyed turrets high. 

We did not question how or why. 
Nor heed the moments passing by; 
Unmindful they would fade so soon, 
One year ago. 

Tonight the breezes wail and sigh 
Among the grasses, brown and dry; 
My harp unstrung and out of tune, 
Would ask but only this one boon, 
To sing those songs that never die. 
One year ago. 



Sun-CClays of Bong 73 

LETTERS OF GOLD 

When you see aught that is good in a friend, 

Write it in letters of gold; 
Something or other your heart can commend, 
As on your journey you daily may wend, 
That the dear import remain to the end. 

Write it in letters of gold. 

Hear the glad greetings as onward you fare. 

Write it in letters of gold ; 
Publish it wide on the mountains so bare. 
Over old fields of the thorn and the tare, 
" Ye cannot wander outside of my care," 

Write it in letters of gold. 

There is the message to one gone astray. 

Write it in letters of gold; 
How wide is His mercy, enduring for aye. 
Guiding the others that might lose the way. 
Treasure the meaning for yourself, and stay! 

Write it in letters of gold. 



" WHIPS OF SCORN " 

Not all who die still dwell amongst the dead ; 
The yesterdays that I thought long had fled, 
From fields of promise, now of fruitage shorn. 
Oft reach me yet with stinging whips of scorn! 



74 Sun-CClays of Song 

DOWN COUNTRY WAYS 

Green grassy plots, an orchard red, under a 

blue sky, 
Unite to form a picture that is pleasing to 

the eye; 
I do not wander, brush in hand, in quest of 

color schemes, 
This sweetest revelation daily dawns upon my 

dreams. 

The dweller down the city ways would give 

his gold to buy 
Green grassy plots, an orchard red, under a 

blue sky ; 
This rapture brightly rises nightly drenched 

in crystal dews. 
As fair to me as are the scenes the Orient 

traveler views. 

And without money, without price! I stem no 

stormy seas 
For fruit as fair and golden as graced glad 

Hesperides ; 
Green grassy plots, an orchard red, under a 

blue sky. 
The Golden Fleece or Cloth of Gold with them 

can never vie. 



8un-CClay9 of Song 75 

A glad wind runs in riot down the quiet clover 

fields, 
Then with a breath of Araby from out the 

orchard steals; 
Oh, pleasures! measures of delight! The sad 

soul can but cry, 
" Green grassy plots, an orchard red, under a 

blue sky ! " 



A WINTER TWILIGHT 

Across the winter fields, the daylight dies; 

Wrapped in their white investiture of snow, 

The heights retain a while the parting glow, 
Then fade as ebbs the splendor from the skies; 
In dream-like mood, all nature dormant lies, 

While timid tribes of furry folk bide low ; 

The pulses of the trees such respite know 
Till Spring in old-time beauty shall arise. 

" He giveth snow like wool," one sang of old ; 
And, in fulfillment of the Psalmist's word, 
Behold the white flakes silently descending: 

Beside the hearth let charming tales be told. 
Of those trouveres that sang like any bird. 
Or Ruth amid the sheaves at twilight wend- 
ing. 



76 Bun-glays of Song 

LETTING DOWN THE BARS 

Beyond the oak-crowned hills the sun now dips 
His burning disk; where unseen runnels flow, 
Rise soothing lullabies, while to and fro, 

Around yon fold, the sportive lambkin skips. 

Soft as a song from some fond mother's lips, 
The strain Favonius whispers, faintly low; 
The sleepy flowers serenely bend, and blow 

A good-night kiss from perfumed finger-tips. 

High in the purple haze, the young moon hangs 

Her silver sickle, while in home-bound bands, 

The crows are winging under brightening 

stars; 

One, two, three, four, five far-resounding clangs 

Wake from their dreams the drowsy meadow 

lands, 
And homeward pass the cattle through the 
bars. 



AZALEAS 

Her pitcher lightly poised, she seeks the spring. 
From some old love-song singing random 
bars; 

While down the foot-path fair azaleas swing 
Their pink lamps, answering the early stars. 



Siin-Cdays of Song 77 

BEFORE THE FIGHT 

No COMRADE can forget that night in camp 

Before the wary foe that lay intrenched ; 

The rain descended in a flood that drenched 
Our tents and blankets; just one broken lamp 
We marked at times, amid the mist and damp, 

And darkness deepened after it was quenched ; 

It was a night of dread; the bravest blenched 
And longed for home. We heard the ceaseless 

tramp 
Of guards upon their rounds ; one moaning tree 

Made shelter on that stormy night for foes, 
Till misty winds, blowing from off the sea. 

Through ragged gaps of sunrise softly rose 
And quivered beneath the far-heard reveille, 

Bringing a day of sterner dreads and woes. 



CREATION 

" Six days," 'twas said, "creation occupied." 
The poet mused. He saw a rosebud furled, 
And others parting in their crimson pride, 
And wondered, " Is it yet a finished 
world.'' " 



78 8un-C[la>»8 of Song 

THE OLD COUNTRY ROAD 

With crook and turn the country road 
Winds up the hill and down the dale; 

The settlers here their toil bestowed, 
To mark the blazed-out trail. 

The white-topped wagons came in view 
On the horizon's darkened rim, 

And passed in search of regions new 
Beyond the mountains dim. 

Here change has never set its seal; 

And squirrels as in days of yore, 
Along the worm-fence panels steal, 

To find their winter store. 

From thickets close beside the way. 
The whistle of the redbird comes; 

And farther still, in shadows gray, 
The partridge loudly drums. 

Unlike the ways that led to Rome 
Where kings received in royal state, 

Here peeps the white roof of the home 
Where true hearts congregate. 

No regal coach with prancing steeds 
Whirls by with equipage so grand ; 

But here the farm boy gently leads 
The colt he raised by hand. 



Sun-Slays of Song 79 

THE POET 

He died. Rich heritage of faith and hope 
He left to him who tills the barren slope. 

All wealth was his ; for silver cressets lit 

His way through life, and fancy fashioned it. 

The heart's true goodness, his abiding wealth; 
No one could filch it in light-fingered stealth, 

Nor moth nor rust corrupt ; dying, he be- 
queathes 
His riches, bright with amaranthine wreathes. 

The brightest stars, new-minted by the night. 
Shine on his rest, close by a gentle height. 

The sighing winds, the leafy branches wave 
In tender requiems round his lonely grave. 

The springing grass no change of season heeds ; 
There dewy diamonds write his loving deeds! 



THE SURRENDER 

I PRAY for time in which to bury my dead. 
And though defeated, let me from the field 

Withdraw my forces ; let it seem instead 
I triumph ; it were easier thus to yield ! 



80 Sun-^ays of Song 

HARBOR OF DREAMS 

Day with all its care and fret 
With the night I shall forget; 
Putting by all earthly schemes, 
In the harbor of sweet dreams. 



Here each one may take his ease 
'Mid the tall and stately trees ; 
Truce to toil the day redeems, 
In the harbor of sweet dreams. 



Jaques undoubtedly could find 
Peace here suited to his mind; 
For no tide of turmoil streams 
In the harbor of sweet dreams. 



Lovers here forget their woes, 
Foemen's hands complacent close; 
Meet and mingle life's extremes 
In the harbor of sweet dreams. 



Furl the sail, the voyage's done. 
Sinks the anchor with the sun; 
For we bide till daylight beams 
In the harbor of sweet dreams ! 



Sun-Cdays of Song 81 

A SONG 

The fairest path at last, 

Somewhere must find an end; 
Sweet scenes be overpast, 

And sun with shadow blend. 
We leave this happy clime, 

Together, you and I ; 
Not good-night, love, this time. 

But good-bye. 

The moon and starry host, 

Fair vales and rivers clear. 
The scenes that we loved most, 

To others will seem dear; 
Who will not say, when chime 

The bells in turrets high. 
Not good-night, love, this time. 

But good-bye. 

The scene will soon be far 

With its enchanted spell; 
But I shall see the star 

That lights its bosky dell ; 
And hear again the rhyme 

You uttered with a sigh. 
Not good-night, love, this time. 

But good-bye. 



82 8un-CClays of Song 

THE ROSE OF DAWN 

Above yon mist-empurpled height, 
The golden gates of dawn unclose; 

While on the vesture of the night, 
The morning pins a crimson rose ! 

CURFEW 

The sunset reddens down the dusky West, 

The robin softly pipes his vesper lay ; 
And from the dell, beyond the wooded crest, 
"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day." 

Beneath the glances of the evening star. 

Is heard the hum of honey-laden bee; 
The milkmaid carols sweetly, while afar 
"The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea." 

The crows in noisy clamor bend their flight 

To woods that deepen in the twilight ray ; 
And from the field, as darker falls the night, 
"The plowman homeward plods his weary 
way." 

On hill and plain descends the hour of rest 
To weary natures from all toil set free; 
The moon's pale horn drops down the purple 
West, 
"And leaves the world to darkness and to 
me." 



8un-CCla>>6 of Song 83 

QUANDARY OF THE GODS 

A DOG, no earth-born creature could outrun, 
The gods once made. They never gave a 
thought 

About the wondrous deed that they had done, 
And made a hare that never could be caught. 

They saw the ceaseless strife, the endless race, 
And that their error might be never known. 

Each creature there in his unyielding place, 
With magic touch they quickly turned to 
stone ! 

MOONLIGHT 

To-NiGHT, the maiden moon in modest fear. 
Across her forehead draws a cloudy veil. 
Treading the heaven's hallway, dimly pale. 

With great misgivings lest her smiles appear 

Too fair for some fond worshipper down clear 
Arcades of star-sown skies. In yonder dale, 
The light lies dead; even the faintest gale 

Rolls up the mist that rides the atmosphere. 

Here, it would seem, in such a solitude, 

Was silence born, and there was placed a rose 

On his pale lips and softest fingers strewed 
White poppy leaves about his sweet repose; 

His deathless spirit survives and has imbued 
This silent scene of desert-stricken snows. 



84 Bun-^ays of Song 

OLD HAMPSHIRE 

There's a hamlet in old Hampshire where 
the change of time comes not, 
Where the rush and roar of life is never 
heard ; 
And the shepherd on the breezy down of benefits 
forgot 
Is heedless, knowing not of hopes deferred. 

I see the ancient stone church and the flocks of 
homesteads there, 
With the crowded fold of those that sleep 
close by ; 
And oft a chime of deep-voiced bells floats out 
upon the air, 
To mingle with the south wind's gentle sigh. 

The flowers in box-bordered beds are fragrant in 

the Spring, 

When the Seven Sister rose-buds sweetly blow 

In clusters on the blooming limbs ; rich scents 

the breezes bring 

From the honeysuckles swinging to and fro. 

Hedge-roses bloom beside the lane, and rooks 
their converse hold 
High in the leafy coverts of the trees ; 



Sun-dlays of Song 85 

And there at twilight when the sheep are going 
to the fold, 
What music floats across the grassy leas ! 

How softly on the roof of thatch the rain-drops 
patter down, 
Or splash upon the little diamond panes ! 
A king might well forego his robe, his sceptre 
and his crown, 
For such a night in Hampshire when it rain? ! 

The partridge dusting in the road, the timid 
hare near by, 
The merry call of children from afar; 
The woodland hanging on the hill and dark 
against the sky, 
The glimmer of the eventide's first star. 

This is the story of the past and written on my 
mind 
In characters as bright as living gold ; 
I long to see again the haunts for long 3ears 
left behind, 
And drive the sheep at evening to the fold ! 



86 Sun-days of Song 

AN AUTUMN DAY 

In deowsy convolutions, the fair butterfly 

Slips through the hazy air; the russet bloom 
Along the way grows paler, and the gloom 

Of Autumn deepens ; breezes wail and sigh, 

And far down in the crimson woodland die 
In echoes deep, successive; swallows plume 
Their pinions for the South ; and when the 
loom 

Of sunset weaves its woof, the robin high 

On leafless boughs sings sadly ; 'mid the sedge 
That lines the river, water-fowls alight 

And scream and chatter o'er the sunny pledge 
Ionian; while, often in the deeper night 

Is heard the scream of wild-geese as they wedge 
Far to the rippling lakes their laboring flight. 



A HEART AND A SOUL 

I DREAMED I heard a woman's Heart and Soul 
In conversation ; thus the Soul held sway : 
"I shall live through Eternity: you stray, 

A light-winged moth, seeking a flaming goal, 

To perish with the winning, while the whole 
Succeeding ages will be mine ; you stay, 
A transient traveler tarrying but a day. 

To come no more as changing seasons roll. 

Thus, holding comradeship with you a while 



8un-CClay9 of Song 87 

Secure in mj white convent, oft I hear 
A sound of laughter, and I know you smile; 

And then comes sobbing, and I know a tear 
Has dimmed your day that fewer joys beguile 

The closing scenes of your eventful year." 

And then I listened to the Heart's reply. 
For she made answer: "Though alive to-day 
And dead to-morrow, yet shall my short stay 

Exceed your ceaseless round of time ; for I 

Shall live and love, and as the years go by. 
Shall sit in many festal throngs and say, 

'Whatever debt is mine, the Soul must pay; 

For me, there is no judgment when I die!' 

You will grow weary of the unclouded light 
That varies not ; but from my dust a rose 

Will spring to scent the Summer and invite 
Wayfarers to a sweet though brief repose; 

To say to them, 'Beyond all pain and blight, 
A Heart now lies and no more sorrow 
knows!'" 



"MEN SAID MY DAYS WERE WASTED" 

Men said my days were wasted, and, indeed. 
It seemed I went with empty hands, nor now 
Is there recalled one furrow that my plow 

Then made across the broad and fertile mead; 



88 Sun-Cdays of Song 

And further, I could reap not, if the seed 
Was never planted; nor lithe branches bow 
With autumn fruitage: could they but allow 

Such days at last to scanty want would lead! 

But He who clothes the lilies of the field 

And hears the hungry ravens when they cry, 

Has led me safely down the ways that shield 
From bitter blasts, beneath a cloudless sky; 

And song is mine ; still passing moments yield 
That peace the gold of Ophir cannot buy ! 



A PRAYER 

The way grows steep and stony, Father! Night 
Is veiling hill and valley ; many a cloud 
Fleets darkly over heaven; a misty shroud 

Blots out the feeble stars ; no welcome light 

Gleams for a moment's space to guide aright 
My faltering footsteps ; on I wander, bowed 
And oft amiss, while echoing far and loud 

The storm is breaking on the mountain height. 

Bend downward closer, Father! Take my hand 
With firmer clasp in thine; along the way 

Lead me aright, for 'mid the gloom I stand 
Doubtful and sore afraid; I can but stray 

Without thee, Father ; guide me to that land 
Bright with the sunshine of eternal day! 



Sun-Cdays of 8oiig 89 

AT EVENTIDE 

At eventide, when twilight shadows fall 

And birds are nesting in the forest wide, 
Some thoughts of you I often still recall 
At eventide. 

The world grows calm then; like a sleepy bride 
The moon looks down from heaven's azure 

wall, 
And light-winged elves across the darkness 

glide. 

And while soft skies are bending over all, 

The friends of childhood with me then abide, 
And with fond looks my fancies they enthrall, 
At eventide. 

A GRAY DAY 

A SKY, with rainy gleams, 

A little mist of doubt; 
A broken path, it seems, 

I can no more find out. 

Along dim vales I grope, 

Ever with dull despair ; 
Still on, without a hope 

Inspiriting my prayer. 

I know where life was sweet 

And joy was at my soul, 
The thorns are at my feet 

That seek a joyless goal. 



90 Sun-CClays of Song 

DIEU VOUS GARDE. 

Good-night, and may God bless you is my 
prayer. 
The moon goes down. May guardian angels 

keep 
Their watch and ward above you as you 
sleep ; 
May light-winged fairies of good fortune fare 
In ceaseless quest around you as they bear 

The boon for which so many wake and weep ; 
For I would not have any tears to steep 
The roses that your cheeks at parting wear ! 

May no rude storms assail. May softest wings 
Of faring doves against your casement beat, 
With tidings fond. I pray the wind that 
springs 
From tropic climes, and filled with odors 
sweet. 
To visit you with dreams its balsam brings. 
Good-night, and may God bless you, I repeat ! 

ENGLAND 

In nearly pristine state, old England keeps 
Her woods entire: there Chiselhurst survey; 
Nearer the Addington hills in coppice gay; 

The manor of Croydon from its leafage peeps 



Bun-Cdays of Bong 91 

Near see of Canterbury, while yonder sweeps 
The sylvan plain of Windsor; and here sway 
The trees of Banstead commons ; in fair 
array 
The range of North Downs in yon forest 
sleeps. 

Here sing the songsters, either soon or late: 
The bird that caroled to the pensive Keats, 
Its kindred still enchants us with its lay; 

At morn when rooks in wind-swept elms debate, 
Faint echo then fair Juliet's words repeats, 
As Shelley's lark, blithe spirit, heralds day. 

STORM AT SEA 

The far-off heavens seem a burnished scroll 

Where the Storm Spirit with a trembling 
hand 

Now writes his wrath ; upon the waste of sand 
The foam-capped billows of the ocean roll. 
And 'mid the rocks along the outward shoal 

The tiny vessels toil; the wave is scanned 

By earnest watchers on the distant strand. 
Who beckon them to seek some peaceful goal. 

The little lapse of silence that precedes 
The storm is on the land; the willows bow. 

And giants of the forest bend like reeds; 
The fisherman to shelter turns his prow, 

While overhead the scavenger that feeds 
On ocean's stormy harvest circles now! 



92 Sun-Cdays of Song 

RETROSPECTION 

The moon is wrecked in cloudy skies, 

The lily shakes its petals down ; 
And, where the dusky woodland lies, 

The river wears a frown. 
You went your way ; I turned to go : 

The journey promised to be long; 
Now, faith is sweeter; for I know 

That you were right and I was wrong. 

The stars are hidden in their urns 

That show but dimly in the skies ; 
And from the shore, the drowsy turns 

Of night, the owlet cries. 
Thus, waiting for the morn to come, 

I cheer the watches with a song; 
And so will sing till lips are dumb, 

That you were right and I was wrong. 

LOVE THE CONQUEROR 

Dark around the waves were flowing 

'Neath a sullen, stormy sky ; 
Gulls their underwings were showing. 

Wheeling near with eerie cry. 
How the bitter truth oppressed me. 

That with daylight's risen beams, 
In your arms, I should not rest me. 

Waking; from the sweetest dreams. 



Sun-CClays of Song 93 

Came ere long fond recollections, 

As the cloud-rack rolled away; 
Fairest were the bright reflections 

Mirrored in the peaceful bay ; 
While across the sunlit distance, 

Homing sails were gaily spread; 
Over winds' and waves' resistance. 

Love, the sea gives up its dead! 



LOVE'S LOYALTY 

Sweet empress, lo ! your Royal liege draws 
near; 

Behold the tributes of earth's richest kings; 

From fair purlieus he fetches finest things. 
His sovereign's throne thus sweetly to endear; 
The snowdrop, timorous firstling of the year. 

The rose, the sweetest of all earthly things. 

The lily's bell whose crystal clearly rings. 
With bay leaves for a fadeless wreath sincere. 

And fairings he has brought from other lands; 

The beauty of the seas and mountain- 
heights. 

Fair stones as lustrous as the stars above; 
Ere he goes forth once more with empty hands, 

In fealty subscribed by those old knights. 

Behold, he kneels to you ! Is not that love ? 



94 8un-^Clay9 of Song 

"DEAD ! MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN" 

" Dead ! my lords and gentlemen." 
Lost! the charm of voice and pen, 
To the world in starless night, 
Lacking now this guiding light. 

From the hillside and the glen, 
" Dead ! my lords and gentlemen," 
Floats along the mournful air. 
Filling all with mute despair. 

Quick to come at sorrow's call, 

Brother to us, great and small; 

" Dead ! my lords and gentlemen," 

Passed beyond our earthly ken. 

Sore afraid, we doubting stand. 

While across the mournful land. 

Sad-hearted Echo grieves again, 

" Dead ! my lords and gentlemen." 



GLEANERS OF THE PONTINE 
MARSHES 

Across the Pontine marshes, brightly shines 
The sunset splendor ; eye may search in vain 
For tree or hillock; down the dreary plain 

Throng the poor gleaners from the Apennines; 



Bun-CHays of Song 95 

They mark the desert with their fading lines, 
Pitching their tents along the waving grain; 
Rude structures of the bulrush and the cane, 

Sketched dark on crimson skies as day declines. 

The harvest past they leave, for none can brook 
The thought of biding on the cheerless waste, 
Watching in dread each desolate day go by ; 

"How do you live here?" With a troubled look, 
They gather up their garments as in haste. 
Scanning the pestilent level, "Sir, we die." 

DOUBT 

Oh ! who could deem Love else but fickle, when 
Her birthplace was the sea that varies stiU 
Each moment at the moon's unstable will.'' 

Impermanence declared her mission then ; 

Inconstant as the gleam that lights the fen. 
She is but steadfast in her sovereign skill 
To vacillate ; the gamut of good and ill 

She runs in fitful moods to foil all men! 

So when I stand beside the refluent sea, 
Its surges rising at the beck and call 
Of that belated orb in changeful skies; 

Small wonder then is mine that far from me 
Down alien ways she wandered, taking all 
The world's delight for which my spirit cries ! 



96 8un-^ay8 of Song 

"IF I SHOULD FAINT" 

If I should faint beside the way, 
When thinking of me, kindly say, 
"The daily task, before him set. 
Was too much for his doings, yet 
Hopeful, he faced the dawning day! 

The world was better for his stay. 
Inspiring men." Will you not pay 
To olden times this little debt, 
If I should faint? 

Assured, encouraged by your "Yea, 
We shall remember," now the gray 

Of coming night holds no regret ; 

I know that you will not forget 
This promise when you kneel to pray, 
If I should faint. 



PASTORAL DAYS 

Oh ! FOR a dream beneath Arcadian trees ; 
To sit with shepherds, sharing snowy curd 
And oaten cakes ; to pass, perhaps, a word, 

Philosophize with those who roam at ease. 

And hear Pan pipe upon the flowered leas; 
To see the leafy curtains softly stirred 
By fleeing nymph or wing of passing bird. 

Lulled by sweet murmurs of the Hyblaean bees ; 



Bun-Cdays of Song 97 

To see the moon, high over the leafy hill, 
Her silver sickle curve in western skies, 

While in low cadence sings the rippling rill, 
Till the red sunset from the heaven dies, 

And the clear fountains of the night distil 
The peaceful balm that falls on weary eyes. 



LOVE'S ROSE 

One message why repeat? 

You know I love you ; 
The grass beneath your feet, 

The sky above you ; 
And, ever understand. 

One sea past sounding; 
The beauty of one land 

That has no bounding! 

No matter then which way 

We stroll together 
From dawn till set of day, 

With fairest weather, 
There he this sea and land 

Beyond our knowing, 
Save that for your fond hand, 

Love's rose is blowing! 



98 Sun-^ays of Song 

INFATUATION 

I SOMETIMES wonder if you really are 
The all of sweet perfection that I deem, 
Or gazing in a crystal bowl I dream 

And fashion it by some deceptive star! 

Did fancy shape the shrine I seek from far 
And wrapped in rainbows that illusive 

beam, 
The fragile, shifting sphere that I esteem, 

And which possession's lightest touch would 
mar? 

I do not seek to know, since wisdom brings 
So hard a penance. I should rather be 
Deceived and happy kneeling at your 
throne ! 
What though my god be wood or brass? 
There rings 
The chime of truth in these old words for 
me, 
" Joined to his idols, cease, let him alone." 



AN EVENING PRAYER 

Before I lay me down to sleep. 

This fervent prayer I always make. 
That God's high host will kindly keep 



Bun-Cdays of Song 99 

Your heart from every tearful ache; 
I pray the softest breeze that blows 

Across your window-sill, with care 
To scarcely stir the crimson rose 

That stands a faithful sentry there. 
Once more this prayer I then repeat 
For your own sake, dear Marguerite. 

I look amid the fearful storms, 

When light from out my sky has fled, 
To see God's promise as it forms 

Its varied arch above your head ; 
Along my darkened way I grope, 

If but this message I may read. 
And have within my heart the hope 

That you with peace are blest, indeed! 
For I would have no storms to beat 
Around your pathway, Marguerite ! 

No thorns to wound, no hills to climb, 

But I would have your pathway sown 
With flowers in endless summer-time. 

Each bud with fragrance overblown; 
I could content me with the height. 

And dwell amid eternal snows, 
To see against your bosom white 

The fadeless beauty of a rose! 
Love's bird I loose on pinions fleet. 
With this fond message. Marguerite. 



Epilogue 

To the meadowy slopes where the 
white daisies throng, 

The Singer — ^his song. 
To the Light and the Night where 
the Storm sweeps along, 

The Singer — his song. 
The Night shall behold him. 
The Light shall enfold him, 
God's whisper hath told him 

The sun-way of song. 

To the fields where the Right dares the 
wrath of the Wrong, 

The Singer — his song. 
To the Love that is deathless, the Faith 
that is strong. 

The Singer — his song. 
With soul shriven white, 
To the litanies bright 
Of the Light ! of the Light 

Of the glory of Song! 

FRANK L. STANTON. 



\nnio 1910 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 909 913 1 



